The Feminist
by Recipe
Summary: "Oh, bloody great. So, what is it this time? An experiment on manipulating men? A petition against slut shaming?" A ficlet.
1. Chapter 1

**The Feminist**

_I've been doing a lot of research lately on gender studies, particularly pertaining to women in computer science. (Largely because I'm in computer science… and because, well, that's my senior thesis. With that, be warned if you want to talk to me about feminism and CS – I'm strongly opinionated.) And instead of writing what is supposed to be a draft of my thesis (it was due a week ago – a few more days won't hurt my grade too much, right?), I decided to explore this instead… which is yet another "girl works for boy" story, but hopefully with a little more realistic twist. (Who knows if I'm correct about that? You heard me say senior thesis, right? – I'm still just a girl in college fantasizing about the real world based on a couple of internships.) _

_Enjoy, and please review!_

…

"Oh, bloody great. So, what is it this time? An experiment on manipulating men? A petition against slut shaming?"

…

Let me tell you a something before we get started: Rose Weasley was a **Feminist** – all syntax highlighting warranted.

She didn't used to be, back at Hogwarts. Back then, she was her own kind of headstrong, determined to get herself a position without the legacy of her parents. She had – quite cleverly, she thought – rearranged the letters of her name to spell _Ross Lee Waye_, submitting her resume and NEWT scores under the pseudonym. She received a dozen offers for interviews, only to find her interviewer purse his lips when he looked at her ponytail, her lightly mascara'ed eyes, and her fitted pantsuit.

The next five letters she received offering her for a chance to interview, she had gone in wearing a fitted skirt, post-pedicure nails, and her curly hair loosely styled. Of those five interviews, she had received a total of one job offer, and it came accompanied with the letter – _Dear Ms Waye, We are happy to inform you that we think you would be a great fit at our company. However, we are uncertain of your qualifications for the position you have applied for, though we would like to extend to you a secretarial role – _

If you asked Rose what came next, she'd say "_Incendio_."

After that, she had taken a long look at her pseudonym and frowned. Maybe, if she flipped one letter around, and flipped the ordering of a name…

_Lea Ross Weye_ received only a small fraction of responses from companies compared to _Ross Lee Waye_.

One rant to a mother later ("_Yes, Rosie, that's the world we live in today – now, what will you do about this?_"), Rose Weasley emerged as the most stubborn feminist that you would ever meet.

The first thing she had done was ransack her closet, throwing her suits into a bag and stalking off to Madame Malkin's to demand that the witch spell all her dress pants to pencil skirts. The second thing she had done was to find Lily to practice the more complicated make-up spells that Rose always had difficulty with.

Rose Weasley was going to embody feminine. She was going to climb to the top of the corporate ladder in heels.

(It just would've been nicer if heels didn't hurt so damn much… or if she was better at those fashion spells that made shoes more comfortable.)

But what was pain, but a mental construct (born out of physical signals from nerve endings)? Rose was the definition of determination, and she would allow no obstacle to defeat her.

Not even charming blond ones with smug smiles.

…

Rose dropped her proffered hand. "_Excuse_ me?"

"Oh," Malfoy said lightly, folding his hands over a copy of her résumé that was sitting on his desk. "Was that handshake for me?"

"Sorry, _slut shaming_?" Rose repeated, at a loss of words to say.

"I guess not that one, then," Malfoy ceded with a tilt of his head before gesturing to the chair opposite him. "Please, sit down. Those shoes of yours look like they weren't designed for comfort."

As a matter of fact, they certainly weren't – as Rose's feet could attest. But even as her feet told her to _get in the damn chair_, her pride was telling her not to budge because she was a _mountain_ who would bend (or sit) for no misogynist, damn it.

She settled for folding her arms and shifting her weight onto her right foot (which hurt slightly less – ohhh, _ow_), narrowing her eyes at the man who was once her classmate a decade ago.

"You look offended," Malfoy observed with a little more merriment in his tone than Rose would've appreciated. "I'm surprised. I thought you were the type to trumpet about how _all women are created equal and should be treated as such_, whether or not some of your sex liked to fuck more than others. Please, do sit. Your standing over me isn't going to intimidate me at all, if that's what you were going for. Would you care for some tea?"

Rose bit her lip because damn it, his logic was flawless. She shouldn't be insulted that he thought she was petitioning against slut shaming – even though she most certainly _wasn't_ a slut, thank you very much – and she really wasn't, because being a slut involved at least having some semblance of a sex life, which she didn't have because she was so busy with her career and she was going to die alone with Crookshanks' grandkittens – and, oh right. What was that her feet were saying? _Get in the damn chair._

As she gingerly lowered herself into the seat across from Malfoy, Rose sniffed and retained her practiced look of artful disdain. She was embarrassed to have been called out on her own personal social discriminations, which meant that she needed to quickly come up with something else to be offended about. Which, given present company, wasn't hard.

"Yes, please, with one teaspoon of sugar," she accepted. "But I'm sorry – what did you mean, _what is it this time?_"

"Ah, that," Malfoy said as he waved his wand and a cup appeared before her. She tasted it and, despite her best efforts, could find nothing wrong with it. "A commentary on how you always look like you're promoting one thing or the other. So, what _is_ it this time?"

Rose opened her mouth, but nothing came out, so she closed her lips, cleared her throat, and tried again. Yes, she supposed she always had great societal goals she wanted to achieve – curse her for her efforts in making the world a kinder place, right? "Feminism in corporate," she finally managed. "That women can achieve and manage high office just as capably as men." She hesitated. "Though I'd appreciate it if you didn't undermine my work in correcting social injustice by wording it as if it were a _fad_ I was trying out for a time."

"Not at all," Malfoy said cheerily, lifting his own teacup in acknowledgment before drinking from it. "I applaud your idealism. It's more than what the rest of us do. Now, as hiring manager, I do believe I'm supposed to ask you – what have you been up to in the last ten years since we've graduated?"

…

Two weeks later, she received an owl – _Dear Ms Weasley, We are delighted to inform you that you have impressed our team with your talent and we would like to extend an offer to you for the position of Potion Master. Please inform us of your availability in the upcoming week and the hiring manager [Scorpius Malfoy] will arrange to meet with you to discuss further details on the offer._

She immediately checked her calendar and scribbled out a reply.

…

"Morning, Weasley."

Malfoy was already there when Rose arrived (ten minutes early), seated with a half-empty cup of tea and biscuits already nibbled on. Rose offered a tight smile as he put away his paper.

"Tea?" Malfoy offered. "Teaspoon sugar, if I'm correct?"

"Make it honey this time," Rose corrected, "and a dash of milk."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows but said nothing as the china appeared before her. As she tasted it – and, of course, it was perfect _again_ – he started, "So, before we begin, I have to ask. During the interview, you cited the reason why you wanted to leave your current employment was because there was no room for growth. Isn't your whole – feminism thing – " He paused, looking at the outfit she had donned today, which was a pencil skirt with a flattering cut and a white blouse that was almost sheer – or, maybe a little sheer, but that was why she had pulled on a fitted jacket over it. " – wasn't that to try and break that glass ceiling?"

Her current employment was working for a consulting company specializing in potions, where she had risen as far up the ranks already as they would apparently allowed. She had enjoyed having a position that allowed her to have a secretary (or, as she preferred to call it, _administrative assistant_) – and she had enjoyed even more telling female applicants who were overqualified for the secretarial role to search for better employment. But still…

"I tried for over a year," Rose said curtly. "And if they won't reward my talent with a promotion, then they're not going to keep it." She paused, thinking. "And," she added as an afterthought, "you can also destroy a glass ceiling by climbing around it and breaking it from the other side."

"Of course," he said. "Well, as you know, at St. Mungo's, you'll be working directly under me. Every six months – that's in May and November – I'll be writing you a performance review and your portfolio will go up to the committee. I have, by the way, gotten two people promoted already, so you could very well be the third."

Ten years they'd been out of Hogwarts, and he was already at a position to promote people. And having _already_ promoted people. People like _her_. Rose bit her lip. She probably could've been there too, if she had been born a man.

"So – as I'm sure you also know – St. Mungo's doesn't entrust the more complicated potions that Healers or patients may require to other companies, so we brew all of those ourselves. My team largely brews the potions required for treating plant poisoning. Plant poisoning doesn't occur as often as other genres of illnesses, such as diseases and spell damage, so we're a pretty small department. This means we get to work closely to the department's research team – which, of course, is devoted to creating new potions to cure poisonings – especially since there's some down time when the quota is filled.

"Now, working at St. Mungo's also means that you're required to identify your wand to mark it as a pager. We don't get paged very often, but if there's an outbreak of something and our stores are running low, we need to start brewing at once. You'll be expected to be on call… I'd say, for about two to three weeks every three months. Most of the time, nothing will happen – but the group that's on call at any given time are expected to be able to cleanly perform any awakening, sobriety, or whatever spell needed and work immediately. In case of emergency, you may also be paged when you're not on call. But in plant poisoning, that's happened to me only once a few years back when some idiot, trending chef decided to cook with floral vipod."

"Floral vipod." Rose stifled a giggle. "Did the fact that its name means _viper pod_ not send a message?"

Malfoy grinned. "Apparently, he thought that only the pods were poisonous, and the leaves would be safe. Or that's what I think he was mumbling about when he was in our hospital beds. So," he said, "do you have any questions about all this?"

…

That night, Rose sent a letter of resignation to her boss. She delighted in reading it over once, then twice again – and okay, maybe she read it a third time before she Floo'ed over to her parents' house and read it to her mum and dad.

"I'm proud of you, Rosie," her mum said, and Crookshanks mewled his approval (or, whatever) as well.

"Yeah, Rosie," her dad called from the kitchen pantry, "tell them where they can stick it!"

Her dad was a little less excited when she mentioned that she had accepted an offer to work under a Malfoy, so she quickly claimed cramps and let her mum deal with it as she Apparated back to her apartment.

As she lay in bed that night, she thought about her brunch with the blond.

"I've never had anyone accept an offer so quickly," he had said. "Are you sure you don't want to think about it more?"

"Malfoy," she had told him, "I have interviewed for seven different firms and not one of them, except for you, could brew a half decent cup of tea. How do you expect me to brew potions for someone like that?"


	2. Chapter 2

**The Feminist**

_Something, something, I don't really know where I'm going with this. Sometimes things just write themselves and I think holy fuck that's not what I intended. I guess I'll just have fun. All feedback is greatly appreciated!_

* * *

"You look pathetic. Seriously, you look like a cat barfed on your face and you decided to call that make-up. How did you even manage to fit yourself into that skirt this morning? You look like an Inferius."

Working with Malfoy, Rose decided, was definitely a curse.

Her head was pounding, and it was difficult to separate the pulses of her headache from Malfoy's blathering. Blathering which, once deciphered, didn't make her feel one bit better, strangely enough.

"Go home, Weasley. We've actually already met our quota for this month, so you don't really need to be brewing. Get some sleep. If you insist, you can work from home by researching on lunar seeds and give me a comprehensive report on them. I've been meaning to look into them for a while, haven't gotten around to it."

Merlin, did this wizard ever shut up? He just kept going – wait. _Go home. Get some sleep._ Was that what he said?

She changed her mind. Working with Malfoy was a blessing.

Even so, there was something he said that just stood out to her and she couldn't let it sit. "You're lying," she pointed out feebly, while hoping he'd let her off to go catch up on sleep anyways. "I looked at the quotas yesterday – there's no way we have enough stock of Amberjuice prepared."

"Well, the main takeaway from what I said is to go home and get your cat choke face away from me," Malfoy said nonchalantly, rolling up his sleeves to begin slicing maple root. "Though if you want to read up on lunar seeds – I wasn't lying about that part."

She shot him a withering glare – though in reality, it probably looked more like a painful wince, given the throbbing in her head – before she nodded and grabbed her things. It was the least he could do, offering her a day off, when it was his fault that she was so hung over.

Well, sort of.

…

The previous day had gone something like this: she gets passed over for a promotion; she rages around her apartment all day; her mum Floo's in and tells her to calm the bloody hell down; she does because her mum's right, that it's really not yet another misogynistic conspiracy on the committee's and Malfoy's part that she wasn't promoted because she had, when her portfolio was submitted, only been working at St. Mungo's for barely a quarter and no one in their right mind would promote someone with that little data; her mum leaves one she cooled down; she basks in her shame; her eyes floats over to her wine cooler; she decides to treat herself to a bottle.

Or, you know, two.

Okay, two and a half, though she had been planning on three. Al had Apparated in after apparently her mum expressed some concern about Rose's sanity and wrestled the rest of the third bottle away from her, so most of the second half ended up on Al's shirt.

"Merlin, Rosie!" Al had yelped, jumping a foot back from her and staring at the seeping red stain on his white shirt. "This is a knit cashmere! You can't just magic the stain out of something like this without – " His words had then dissolved into meaningless frustrated noises as he stripped his shirt off and ran off to the bathroom sink, and Rose, for her part, had tried very hard not to realize that Al, of all people, would be the first half-naked man to be in her apartment in a year.

…

"Feeling better?"

The cheesy grin on Malfoy's face did nothing to curb Rose's urge to punch his smug little face in. Deliberately ignoring what Malfoy was implying, Rose slammed a large stack of parchment onto his desk. "Here are some files on lunar seeds. I've color coded the notes – green is for how it's grown, orange is for its uses in potions, blue is for current uses outside of potions, and – "

He cut her off, the grin never leaving his face. "Were you hung over yesterday, Weasley?"

She was not going to answer that. "_And_," Rose continued loudly, "I haven't had the time yet to analyze possible trends in current usage, but I've started and what I've got is colored – "

"Did you," Malfoy began slowly, with his grin growing wider if possible, "drink yourself to a stupor because you didn't get promoted?"

Rose flushed. Scratch whatever nice qualities she might have thought Malfoy possessed. Working with him was a _curse_.

(Maybe she should've gone to work at Easthill Potions instead, for the man who couldn't separate milk from cream when brewing tea. At this moment, she wasn't particularly inclined towards working for an intelligent boss.)

"For your information," Rose sniffed, "I was just drinking with my cousin Al and things got carried away." He didn't need to know that by _drinking with my cousin Al_ she really meant _drinking while my cousin was sober, watching me, and lecturing me on my life choices_, and that by_ things got carried away_ she meant _I spilled half a bottle of wine all over his cashmere-whatever shirt_. "Not that it's any business of yours. What _is_ business are these notes – were you listening to a word I was saying?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and relented on the subject, much to Rose's relief. "Blue for not potions, orange for potions, green for herbology, and I'm assuming pink for analysis. Got it." He tapped the stack with his wand and a folder appeared and enclosed itself around the files. "I'll look at it tonight. Thanks, Weasley." His grin came back. "If they're good, I might forget to talk about your hangover in the next bi-quarterly report."

A second passed, and then Rose snapped her jaw shut. (She hadn't even realized it had been hanging in the first place.)

"I'm going to go check up on the dungbeetle larvae," she announced before spinning on her heel and leaving the room.

Before the door swung shut, she heard laughter floating after her and – did he just say something? Something like _the larvae's the other way_ –

Bollocks.

…

Before I continue, perhaps I should admit that starting with this snapshot is a bit unfair.

Rose Weasley is not the sort to go to work with a hangover. She's the coworker you have who unfailingly arrives at least half an hour before you – no matter what time you get in to work, even if it's eight in the morning (which, let's be real, you never quite manage) – and is too damn awake at the meeting scheduled at ten in the morning when no one's tea or coffee has kicked in yet. She more often than not flakes when the team decides to head out for drinks after work, and when she does go, she only orders a few Butterbeers. And yet you can't hate her because she's the one who picks up your on call duty when you've got a stressful week, and she doesn't expect you to sub in for her when it's her turn. And she's the one who Apparates people back when they've forgotten that they haven't eaten and had a bit too much to drink. She is reliable and efficient, and Scorpius Malfoy saw that her addition to his team had accelerated their potion-making by 12%.

If you were to ask her team members what they thought of her, Keenan would shrug noncommittally and say that she was a responsible potions master. Lauren would probably ask, "Do you mean to ask me about Rose, or the stick up her ass?" And Arnold would probably respond, "Hey, she saved _my_ ass that one time I left the crickets too close to the fire."

Ralph would then say that he liked looking at _her_ ass in that skirt, stick or no stick, then wink and mime titties. But of course, Ralph's also a douchebag who was just frustratingly good at mud-based potions (and didn't he know it).

…

The next person Scorpius managed to get promoted was Arnold.

Arnold, who would've let the imported crickets die if Rose hadn't been there. Arnold, who more than once forgot to lock up the greenhouses when it was his turn to close up. Arnold, who had dropped and spilled the _entire contents_ of their only bottle of fernflower nectar all over the floor.

When Rose had found out that she wasn't promoted – again – when May came around, she had swallowed her pride and nodded. Maybe the promotion process was slower at St. Mungo's. After all, it was a distant branch from the Ministry, and government work tended to move more slowly. Not to mention, she absolutely _refused_ to show up to work the next day with another hangover.

Then, on Monday, she was passing by Malfoy's office when she overheard –

" – wanted to say, thanks again, Scorpius. For everything."

"Not at all, Arnold. Congratulations! You certainly deserve it."

"All kudos to you, man, working with you has taught me almost everything I know."

"Well, if you ever decide that I'm better than Grishmaere, you're always welcome back – "

_Grishmaere_. Arnold had gotten promoted and was switching teams.

It didn't matter that she was the one who always seemed to end up with pruning duty, the task that no one wanted to do. It didn't matter that she was the one who made a suggestion to the research team that spurred their current studies on flower aromatherapy. No, to Malfoy, _she_ was Weasley and _he_ was Arnold, and apparently that made all the difference.

And Merlin, weren't they all the same in the end? She was a damn good asset to any team, and she knew it - and they did, too, luring her in with false promises of equal opportunity when they didn't even know what the word equal meant. Because to them, equal opportunity meant that they'd hire her, but they wouldn't promote her or give her a raise or even award her with a damn compliment because women weren't fucking meant for leadership roles. That no matter how hard she worked for months and years, that though she always invested herself entirely, she was only a woman who was _supposed_ to be submissive, and any leadership qualities she had were instead called _bitchy_ and _aggressive_ rather than _forward-thinking_ and_ assertive_. And when they thought of her, they'd think of her with a mocking smile - _Were you hung over yesterday, Weasley?_ \- with zero sympathy, no "We all forget to lock the greenhouses once in a while, and nothing happened really, so don't worry about it, Arnold," and _damn_ it -

Rose straightened herself a little taller and forced herself to keep walking in even footsteps, left, right, left, right, away from the conversation, heels clacking against the stone. Each painful step whispering – _not, you, not, you, Ar-nold, Ar-nold_.

…

It was two in the morning when Rose's wand began blaring and illuminating her room in a bright blue light. Groaning, Rose rolled over in her bed and peered at the clock before sighing and pushing her covers back. As much as she would like to say fuck you to her pager, she was a professional, and especially in this line of work, she wouldn't have some innocent patient suffer because she was boycotting a sexist management. She'd do her damn job even if she didn't get recognized for it, because she had a work ethic and she actually did things _right_ \- and, well, the point is that she got out of bed at the ungodly hour, pulled on her lab robes over her pajamas, and measured out a cup of mouthwash as Malfoy's voice began emanating from her wand.

"Patient with scorch snare burns, begin brewing antidote immediately."

Scorch snare, Rose thought to herself as she spat mouthwash out. That wasn't a plant they regularly worked with. It had to be rare, with an antidote expensive enough for them not to keep some in store. Which meant she'd have to grab a book detailing the instructions from the St. Mungo's library first. Snare, snare… Snare would be under vine plants. Scorch snare. A fire plant? That would make it a category T12. And antidote. Antidote meant there was poison involved. Poisonous fire vine. T43.

Rose swiped her wand off her bedside table and Apparated to the hospital, running towards the library while pulling her hair up into a bun at the same time. T43, potions, scale by two, that made it section P5086 in the library. Which was in… aisle six? Aisle seven?

Reaching the library, Rose darted off towards the correct part of the library (and Merlin, was she out of shape), grabbed a few promising tomes, and Apparated to the wing where they worked. The lights were on – perhaps the other person on call this week had already gotten here, or was the person closing up shop today just incompetent again? – and she slammed the books down on a workbench and began flipping through them. "Scorch snare, scorch snare…" Rose muttered under her breath. "Scorch snare! Grind rat tail, mix with mermaid flakes, and simmer in diluted fernflower nectar – "

She froze. _Fernflower nectar._ Their only bottle that Arnold – promoted Arnold, or in other words, no-longer-here-to-take-responsibility Arnold – had knocked over onto the ground while grabbing other ingredients. Rose was certain that the next shipment hadn't yet arrived, especially considering that fernflowers bloomed only once every three years and that was in January… two years ago.

"Good, you've got the books."

Rose looked up and found Malfoy walking in, nodding towards the tome she had sprawled open before her. He grabbed a Pepper-Up potion from the closet and took a small sip, but enough for steam to be released from his nostrils on his next exhale. "Do you want some?" he said, offering her some of the potion.

Why yes, as a matter of fact, she did.

After accepting the bottle, Rose said, "We need fernflower nectar for the first part of the potion, but – " _but, **Arnold** ensured that we wouldn't have any_. " – but our only bottle was dropped." She had swallowed back her words, but her voice still came out a little harder than casual. Judging by the way Malfoy's eyebrows went up, he definitely noticed. "I'll go to the library and look up properties of the nectar for substitutions – "

"Weasley." Malfoy reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a bottle of a thick amber liquid. "You work in St. Mungo's now, not in a consulting firm. We're well stocked. Relax." He placed it on the workbench, far away from any corner where it could be easily knocked onto the floor. "I went to the creature-induced injuries department storage and borrowed some of theirs," he explained. "Remembered a few ingredients we'd need but didn't have readily stocked." He gave a tragic sigh. "The woes of being the smallest department."

Oh, well.

Rose responded by taking a generous gulp of Pepper-Up potion, squeezing her eyes shut as steam shot out of her ears. "Well, then," she said, in a slightly stilted manner that made herself cringe, "I'll get started on grinding rat tails, shall I?"

…

It was nearly five in the morning when Rose began what she called the Dance of the History of Magic. The dance was a seated dance, where the head would start to nod off and then jerk back upright suddenly in an almost rhythmic pattern. The vials of Pepper-Up potion were long emptied and both she and Malfoy had already performed one or two Awakening charms too many.

"This is a bloody awful potion," Rose mumbled, after glancing up yet again at the clock and finding that not even a minute had passed by. _Stir twice clockwise every fifteen minutes for two hours,_ the instructions had read. Her eyelids drooped back down a bit and a yawn escaped. "This is worse than watching giraffe sex."

From the bench that he was lying down on, Malfoy lifted his head to shoot a raised eyebrow towards her. "You watch giraffe sex."

Rose hummed noncommittedly, nestling her head in her hands into a more comfortable position - wait. Wait. Oh, shit. Merlin, did she - what did she say? Rose's head shot out of her hands, squinted eyes suddenly wide with alarm. Why oh why did she say that? "What - no! I don't - I mean, I've _watched_ it, but it's not something I watch - it's something my family does, it just came out," Rose tried, wincing as all the wrong words came out. "I mean, not _came_ out like - "

"Your family watches giraffe sex," Malfoy said, his elbows now propping him up a bit. That was definitely a grin that was sliding onto his face, and Rose liked it not one bit.

"No we don't, it's just something we say - " Rose broke off, flustered, refusing to look at Malfoy's growing smile. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and in the back of her neck, and she was pretty damn sure that between her humiliation and her hair, she was doing a fine impression of an overripe tomato (which was, of course, exactly what any girl would love to look like at five in the morning in front of their somewhat attractive and secretly misogynistic boss). "Once my mum was trying to introduce us to this thing called the internet - it's a Muggle network, supposedly you could find out anything non-magical you could think of through it. And, well, the first thing my dad shouted out was giraffe sex."

Though Malfoy said nothing, that damn smirk was unmovable. Rose remembered her mum talking about a Time Turner she'd once used. If this Time Turner was a family heirloom that her mum was just holding out on Rose, Rose would have a few things to say because Merlin could she use it now.

"He didn't believe her, that's why! He just said the most contrived thing he could think of!" Rose explained desperately. "It wasn't some huge kink of his, or anything, and oh Merlin, now you have me thinking about my parents' sex life, and _why would you do that?!_"

Everything about this night was going terrible. It had been a nonstop roller coaster ride of awkward (which was something that Rose was unfortunately too familiar with - _hey, remember that time back in Hogwarts when Tony asked you out to Hogsmeade and you invited Hugo along by accident and MERLIN BRAIN WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT UP_) and Rose was desperately trying to cling on whatever professionalism might have been left, and it felt a bit like trying to high five the air in front of her face with too much momentum.

Rose prayed that this would not go on her review. She could see it in her mind's eye - _Rose Weasley, Quarterly Report: Knows how to make the antidote to scorch snare, but would rather watch giraffe sex._

Merlin, just kill her now.

"Well, you do have a brother," Malfoy pointed out. "They clearly liked sex enough to do it more than once."

All straws of professionalism just evaporated into the air, and Rose stared after them longingly. Then one more glance at Malfoy's smirk just hedged her the wrong way.

"Fine. If you want to play it that way," Rose said, sitting fully upright and crossing her arms. She'd show him. She was Rose Weasley, she could return an eye for an eye. "One of my dormmates in Hogwarts had the biggest crush on your dad for a solid year, you know. Not you - but your dad. She once talked about becoming his mistress and having babies that looked like you, and I'm still not entirely sure that it was just a joke."

Malfoy laid back down on the bench, grunting a bit as he did so. "Was it Mckillan?" he asked, and would it kill him to sound a little more shocked? "Because she was rather obvious about the whole thing. Used to ask me how my parents were doing all the time."

"Oh," Rose said, quiet for a moment. That took a bit of the oomph out of her story. "I didn't realize she talked to you." She had never really paid attention to Malfoy back in school. Back in first year, she had decided that the boy her father had pointed out was rather uninteresting. But that wasn't a sentiment she ever planned on sharing, even if "I didn't pay attention to my boss because I thought he was boring" would pair ever so well with "I watch giraffe sex" on her review.

"I'm not surprised. You were always rather busy," he said, and in the short silence that followed, Rose wasn't sure if he had been just thinking or if he had fallen back asleep. "And it's not as if you were missing out on anything good. Those conversations were short, but compacted with awkward. At least on my part, I don't think she cared to notice. Though, thank you for reminding me of them." He waved a few fingers in the air, tipping an imaginary hat towards her.

Rose smiled saccharinely, pleased at having been able to return at least some of the discomfort she'd been feeling all night (and all day - but Arnold was most certainly somebody she was not going to think about right now) before the timer buzzed gently, prompting her to stand up and stir the damn potion twice. "You know," she mused, "I was the one who got her to lay off."

"Yeah?" He turned his head sideways to look at her as she cleaned off the stirring rod with her wand. "And how did you crush her dreams?"

Well, there was a story that she was equal parts proud and equal parts embarrassed about. "I pretended to have the hots for her dad. It only took a week." Rose grimaced when Malfoy guffawed. "It was a hard week, I'll have you know! Her dad wasn't aging particularly well. Waxing poetry about a beer gut is a bit more taxing than you'd think."

"Well, all right, no need to get into it," Malfoy said hastily. "But you have my sincere thanks."

Rose giggled. "Like I did it for you."

Thirteen more minutes until the final stirring. Rose thought of something to pass the time.

"Oh Burton Mckinnen," she recited dramatically, "how your belly as round and white as a full moon stirs in me a wolven howl - "

"I can't believe you watched giraffe porn with your mum and dad," Malfoy interrupted loudly.

_For shit's sake._


End file.
